Amends
by x Tessla x
Summary: He could make amends later, he told himself, but six years was a long time and he doubted it would matter. light-SlashFic Eames/Arthur mention of Eames/Ariadne


**Amends**

A/N: This is my first Inception fanfiction. I've been so overwhelmed by this movie and a desire to match its beauty that it has only caused frustration and withdrawal. Eames is my favorite character, so I hope I've done him some justice. Obvious disclaimers are in effect. Don't own this movie, characters, etc. R/R. Thanks *edited 7/29/10 just some stylistic things*

He held his glass in his left hand and sighed. He was empty, completely drained and not even the small drop of liquor replenished him. Rubbing his poker chips together, he stared at the table. Maths had never been his strong suit, but people, yes, he could understand people better than even they understood themselves. No one lied, not this time. If Eames had a loaded die, things might have gone differently, but he would never feel the cool ivory in his hand again even if he begged, even if he cried. He stood up, kicked his chair back and left the table to cash in his chips. He could make amends later, he told himself, but six years was a long time and he doubted it would matter.

He had never really expected to get a call about another job, but he was glad that it had come. The only thing that would have made him happier was if Arthur's name hadn't been on it He figured he could just ignore it, just send it back through the post, but to see his favorite girl again, and Yusuf, made him smirk. His meeting with Arthur was inevitable, one more piece of his reality that he would soon like to forget. But to end up like Cobb, that was something he couldn't afford. Arthur haunted him enough as it was.

Eames walked to the bar and demanded rum; he always drank rum when thinking about Arthur. It was the kind of thing that he expected the man would do himself if he drank much. The kick was always there, but it was the flavor of it that Eames liked. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white shirt and slouched in a wooden chair by the window. If only he could be seen now, typical Eames, the drunken gambling addict, the mess.

It wasn't Arthur's face that caused him to lose focus this time, but his clothes and how impeccable the point man dressed and how no matter what he did, how bloodied or beaten he got, his clothes always remained neat and pressed to perfection. He considered the pride hidden in his dark eyes, and the mask of confidence he wore wherever he went. It was his cool façade, his calculated demeanor that Eames liked most. He was lightning and Arthur was ice. Arthur was earth and he was spirit. But to go back to him would be suicide. To see his face, hear his voice. The only word he could fathom to describe such an event was unbearable.

Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed a large gold coin, flipped it, and caught it. Not bothering to check the outcome, he slid it in his pocket. No one watched his flashy display. He had lost his charm the day he lost Arthur. It had been a mistake, a small simple mistake overlooked at the time and felt heavily afterwards. A challenge had been made by Ariadne, a joke that went too far. He remembered her voice mocking him. She could refuse his charm, she said. She would never fall for such an arrogant man. He was never one to back down from a challenge.

When Arthur found out, found out through the sighs and moans that escaped the room next to him, he was furious. An unspoken code had been broken and it shocked Eames to see Arthur truly angry. As the Point Man's calculated mask shattered with broken lamps and tossed furniture, Eames could only feel pain. He admitted his crime, but Arthur was far too uncontrolled, far too real for any of his words to reach him. Arthur stalked from the room, from the apartment never looking back, never saying goodbye.

Eames sighed as he rubbed his stubble. He eyed the empty glass considering another one. It wasn't Arthur's words that hurt. It was his fault they ever came out. It was the clothes he left behind, the reason why he was having these thoughts in the first place. He didn't know where to put them, how to dispose of them. Arthur could still come back, he said initially, but Arthur never came back. It was genius he thought as he put on Arthur's jackets and strutted around the room looking as cold and passive as he could. Wearing his clothes was the second biggest mistake of his life as the smell of cologne disappeared and was replaced with rum.

He would go to this meeting, sit in silence and watch the point man do his thing. He would take note of his long fingers and watch as they caressed the air with subtle care. It would take all control to listen to the voice that begged in the night for a kiss, to feel the breath that used to tickle his neck. Ariadne would like to see him again and Yusuf would be there. He would go for them and make amends later.


End file.
